The Motor Rangers Through the Sierras

by John Henry Goldfrap

  CHAPTER III.

  IN A RUNAWAY AUTO.

  "Can't you stop her?" gasped Joe, clutching the forward portion of thetonneau and gripping it so tight that his knuckles went white.

  Nat shook his head. He felt that he had done what he could to slow downthe car. There was nothing left now but to face the end as resolutelyas possible. As long as they lived the Motor Rangers never forgot thatwild ride down the mountainside in a runaway car.

  The speed can be described by no other word than terrific. Thehandkerchiefs all three of the boys wore about their necks to keep offsunstroke and dust streaked out behind as stiff as if cut out of tin.Their hair was blown back flat on their heads by the speed, and everynow and then the car would strike a rock, which at the speed it wasgoing would throw it high into the air. At such moments the auto wouldcome back to the trail with a crash that threatened to dislocate everyspring in its composition.

  But Nat, his eyes glued to the path in front of him, clung to thewheel, gripping it till the varnish stuck to his palms. He knew thatthe slightest mistake on his part might precipitate the seeminglycertain disaster. Suddenly, however, his heart gave a glad bound.

  He saw before him one loophole of escape from a catastrophe. The stagewas halted against the rocky wall on the right-hand side of the trail.So far over toward the rocky wall was it, in fact, that its hubs almostscraped it. This left a narrow space between its left-hand wheels andthe other wall of the pass.

  True, it looked so narrow that it hardly seemed possible that the autocould dash through, but it was the only chance that presented itself,and Nat was quick to take advantage of it. As they saw what the boyintended to do the onlookers about the stage broke into a cheer, whichwas quickly checked as they held their breath in anticipation. It wasone chance in a thousand that Nat was taking. Would he win out?

  Closer thundered the auto while the alarmed stage passengers crowdedto the far side of the pass. Nat, his eyes glued on the narrow spacebetween the stage and the wall of rock, bent low over the wheel. Hisheart underwent a terrible sinking sensation as it grew closer and hesaw how narrow the space was. But he didn't give up on that account. Onthe contrary, the extremely narrow margin of hope acted as a tonic onhis nerves.

  As a naval gunner aims his big projectiles so Nat aimed the thunderingrunaway automobile for the narrow opening between the stage and thecliff.

  Almost before he realized it he was there.

  There was a quick flash of a brightly painted vehicle and white,anxious human faces as he shot by the stage and its dismountedpassengers.

  An ominous scraping sound was audible for an instant as the hubs of thestage and the auto's tonneau came in contact. To the left, Nat feltthe scrub growing in the cracks of the rock brush his face, and then,amidst a shout of joy from behind, the auto emerged beyond the stage,unharmed save for a few scratches.

  As Nat brought it to a standstill on the level, the travellers camerunning up at top speed. All were anxious to shake the hand of thedaring boy who had turned seeming disaster into safety by his grit andcool-headedness.

  "Pod'ner, you jammed that thar gas brigantine through that lilly holelike you wos makin' a poket at bill-yards," admiringly cried a tallman in a long linen duster and sombrero, about whose throat was a redhandkerchief. He grasped Nat's hand and wrung it as if he would haveshaken it off.

  "My name's Cal Gifford. I'm the driver of the Lariat-to-Hombre stage,"he announced, "and any of you kids kin ride free with me any timeyou've a mind to."

  "Thank you," said Nat, still a bit trembly from his nervous strain, "Ireally believe that if you only had horses we'd accept your invitationand tow the auto behind."

  As he spoke he started to scramble out of the car, the others followinghis example. The Motor Rangers were anxious to see what had gone wrongwith their ordinarily trustworthy vehicle.

  "Oh, he's quite young," simpered an elderly lady in a big veil, who wasaccompanied by her daughter, a girl of about twenty. An old man withfierce white whiskers stood beside them. They were evidently tourists.So, too, was a short, stout, blonde little man as rotund as a ciderkeg, who stepped up to the boys as they prepared to examine their car.

  "Holt, plez!" he said in an authoritative voice. "I vish to take zeephitograft."

  Nat looked somewhat astonished at so curt an order, but the other twoMotor Rangers merely grinned.

  "Better let him, pod'ner," suggested Cal Gifford. "He took them roadagents a while back. Caught 'em in the act of sneaking the expressbox."

  "Chess!" sputtered the little German. "I gedt find pigdures of all ofdem. Dey vossn't looking andt I--click!"

  As he spoke he rapidly produced a camera, and before the boys knewwhat was happening he had pressed a little lever, and behold they were"taken." But, in fact, their minds had been busy with something else.This something was what the stage driver had referred to.

  "Road agents?" asked Nat. "You've been held up, then?"

  "Yep, pod'ner, that's what it amounts to," drawled Cal nonchalantly, asif it were the most ordinary thing in the world.

  "The varmints stepped out frum behind that thar rock and we didn't hevtime ter say 'Knife' afore we found ourselves lookin' inter the muzzlesof as complete a collection of rifles as you ever saw."

  "Un dey tooked avay der horses by der oudtside," put in the Germantourist. "Oh, I schall have me fine tales to tell ven I get me pack byder Faderland."

  "The Dutchman's right," said Cal. "The onnery skunks unhitched ourplugs and scampered 'em off up the trail. I reckon they're in theirbarn at Lariat by this time."

  "Oh, dear, and we'll have to walk," cried the young lady, bursting intotears.

  "And I haf vot you call it, a oatmeal?--py my pig toe," protested theGerman.

  "I guess you mean a corn, Dutchy," laughed Cal.

  "Vell, I knowed it vos some kindt of cereal," was the reply.

  "Seems a shame to see that purty critter cry, don't it?" said Cal,nodding his head sidewise toward the weeping young lady.

  "This is an outrage! An outrage, I say!" her white-whiskered fatherbegan shouting. "Why were those highwaymen not shot down? Why didn'tsomebody act?"

  "Well, pod'ner, you acted up fer sure," grinned Cal. "Am I mistaken ordid I hear you say you'd give 'em five thousand dollars for your life?"

  "Bah!" shouted the white-whiskered man. "It was your duty sure toprotect us. You should have fired at them."

  "I'd hev bin a hull lot uv use to yer then, except fer funeral poposes,wouldn't I?" inquired Cal calmly.

  "Bah! sir, bah!" sputtered the angry old gentleman.

  "Good thing ther h'aint no mounting lions 'round," drawled Cal. "Theymight think we wuz an outfit of sheepmen by all the bah-bahing we bedoin'."

  "But how is my daughter to get to Lariat, sir?" begged the elderlylady. "She hurt her foot in getting off the stage."

  "Well, ma'am," said Cal, "supposing yer man yonder takes a try atcarryin' her instead of wasting wind a-bahing?"

  "Voss iss diss bah? Maybe I get a picture of him?" asked the German,bustling up excitedly with his camera all ready for business.

  "Oh, sir, my husband was excited. He didn't know what he was saying,"exclaimed the elderly lady clasping her hands.

  "There, ma'am, don't take on. I was only a-having my bit of fun," saidCal. "Maybe when these boys get their gasoline catamarang fixed upthey'll give us a ride."

  "But they cannot take all of us, sir," cried the lady, beginning toweep afresh.

  "There, there, ma'am, never mind ther irrigation--I mean 'Weep not themtears,'" comforted Cal. "Anyhow, you and your daughter can get a ride."

  "But my husband--my poor husband, sir."

  Cal turned with a grin at a sudden noise behind them. Thewhite-whiskered man had now turned his wrath on the unfortunate German.

  "Out of my sight, you impudent Teuton," he was shouting. "Don'taggravate me, sir, or I'll have your blood. I'm a peaceable tourist,sir, but I have fought and bled in my time."

  "Must hev bin bit by a m
osquito and chased it," commented Cal tohimself as the lady hastened to console her raging better half, and thelittle Dutchman skipped nimbly out of harm's way.

  "What yo' bin a-doing to ther ole bell-wether, Dutchy?" inquired Cal.

  "I ask him if he blease tell me vere I can get a picture of dot Bah,und he get madt right avay quvick," explained the Teuton.

  While all this had been going on among the tourists and Cal, theother passengers, mainly mountaineers, had stood in a group asidetalking among themselves. In the meanwhile, the Motor Rangers had beenexamining the damage to their car. They found that the connectingrod working the band of the emergency brake had snapped, and that ablacksmith would be needed to weld it. Cal, who had strolled up in timeto hear this decision, informed them that there was a blacksmith atLariat.

  "And a good 'un, too," he volunteered.

  The stage driver then made a request for a ride on behalf of the younglady and her parents.

  "Me and the Dutchman and the rest kin hoof it," he remarked. "It ain'tabove five mile, and down grade, too."

  "A steep grade?" asked Nat, with some appearance of interest as Joefinished unbolting the loose ends of the broken rod.

  "No, jest gentle. It runs on 'bout this way all down into Lariat."

  "Well, then," said Nat, with a smile, "I'll save you all the trouble ofwalking."

  "How's that, pod'ner? We kain't all pile in the hold of that benzinebuggy."

  "No; but I can give you a tow."

  "What, hitch my stage on ahind your oleomargerinerous gas cart?"

  "That's it."

  "By the big peak of Mount Whitney, that's an idee!" exclaimed thedelighted stage driver, capering about and snapping his fingers like abig child. "Wait a jiffy, I'll explain it all to Bah-bah and the rest."

  This was soon done, and the Motor Rangers in the interval attached arope to the rear axle of the car and in turn made it fast to the frontof the stage. The pole of the latter vehicle was then led over thetonneau of the auto and Joe and Ding-dong deputed to steer. From thedriver's box of the stage Cal worked the brake.

  An experimental run of a few yards was made, and on the gentle gradethe plan was found to work perfectly, the auto towing the heavy stagewithout difficulty.

  "Now, then, all aboard the stagemotebubble!" shouted Cal, and a fewminutes later all the passengers, delighted with the novelty of theexperience, had piled on board. All delighted, that is, except thewhite-whiskered man.

  "All aboard that's a-goin' ter get thar!" bellowed Cal, fixing him witha baleful eye.

  "Bah! Bah!" sputtered the white-whiskered one indignantly, neverthelessskipping nimbly on beside his wife and daughter.

  But there came a fresh delay.

  "Holt on, blease! Vait! I vish a photegrift to take him!"

  "Ef yer don't hurry up Dutchy," shouted Cal, "you'll hev a picter ofyerself a-walking inter Lariat."

  But the photo was taken without delay, and amid a cheer from heroverjoyed passengers, the stage, which moved by such novel means,rumbled onward on its way to Lariat.